Running on Empty
by jkwhedon1919
Summary: Coda to 8x21. Sam and Dean take Cass back to the Batcave.


**A/N: This is my take on what happened after the end of "The Great Escapist." Please review!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.**

"Cass!"

Sam and Dean jumped out of the car as the man in front of them lifted his head.

"A little help here?" Cass asked.

Dean exchanged glances with his brother and then looked back at the fallen angel. His hand was clutched to his stomach, and there was angry bruising on his face, yet he was determined. Almost certainly in pain, but not bleeding-to-death-in-the-middle-of-the-road pain.

Or so Dean hoped.

He turned to his brother.

"Stay here."

Ignoring Sam's protests, Dean rushed to the angel's side crouched in front of him.

"Cass?"

"Dean," Castiel replied. He reached toward him with his free hand, but began to roll forward the moment he lost balance.

"Easy," Dean said, gripping his shoulders. "What the hell happened?"

"Bullet," Castiel replied. "In my stomach."

Dean raised his eyebrows.

"A bullet? Since when does a bullet-"

"Crowley melted down an angel blade," Castiel groaned, placing his hand firmly on the ground again.

"Right," Dean sighed. "Cool. King of Hell's got a new toy."

He turned back to his friend.

"How bad is it?"

Castiel looked down at his wound.

"I stopped most of the bleeding," he replied. "So I think I'll lived."

"Alright, let's get you back to the car. Can you stand?" Dean asked.

Castiel nodded.

"I believe so," he replied.

But when Dean pulled him to his feet, it was anything but graceful, and he wobbled dangerously, despite Dean's hands on his back and torso.

"Why haven't you healed the rest of it?" Dean asked, shaking his head.

"Angel blade wounds are very painful," Castiel replied. "Assuming you don't die-"

He stumbled.

"-which isn't often, it takes hours, sometimes over a day, to recuperate."

Dean nodded, but said nothing as they neared the car. His brother was still standing next to the passenger side.

"Cass?" he asked.

"Hello, Sam," Castiel answered.

Dean maneuvered Castiel in front of him.

"Sam, will you get the door?" he asked.

Sam nodded and ran around to the other side of the Impala, eyeing the injured angel.

"You look like crap, you know."

Castiel cracked a smile.

"You don't look too good yourself."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Alright, you two, you're making me cry," he said, as he gently helped Cass into the car and leaned him against the backseat. He looked at his friend sharply.

"We got about another two hours until we get home. Do we need to stop at a motel and get you patched up?"

Castiel shook his head.

"I just need rest."

Dean nodded.

"Alright then." He walked forward and opened the driver's door.

"How is he?" Sam whispered as Dean started the car.

Dean shrugged.

"He says he'll heal," he answered.

After ten minutes on the road, the car was silent, save for the Bob Seger tape playing softly in the background and Sam's snores. Dean glanced at the rear view mirror. He expected to see the angel asleep, or at least resting. Instead his gaze was met head-on.

"Dean," Castiel said. His hand was still gripping his stomach and he was in obvious pain.

"Cass," Dean said carefully.

Castiel shook his head and glanced toward the floor.

"Dean, the last time we- I mean, with Lucifer's crypt and I-"

Dean looked back to the road.

"Cass, we don't have to talk about this right now," he said forcefully.

He could almost feel the angel's stare from the back seat.

"I can never apologize for what I did. But I am so, so sorry. You have to believe me, if-"

"Cass!" Dean interrupted. "I know Sarah Palin was screwing with your noggin ok? I know you weren't in control."

Castiel was quiet for a second. Dean glanced into the mirror to make sure the angel was still conscious. He was. He was wearing a pronounced grimace on his face, and concentrating on the floor again, but he was awake.

"Dean, that doesn't change the fact that I hurt you," he said. It was the clearest he sounded since they had found him on the road.

Dean rubbed his eyes.

"I know," he said softly. "I know," he repeated, his voice getting stronger.

"And I get that you want to bury the hatchet, ok? I do. But I'm telling you that me and Sam have got nothing from you in over a month, and your bleeding out in my backseat, and it looks like you just went ten rounds with- I don't know- a _meteor_, so how about you shut your trap and just try to rest now?"

Castiel slumped further over his stomach. He still wasn't making eye contact.

"If that's what you prefer," he said, shaking his head at the floor.

Dean nodded. And watched Cass lean against the seat again.

"We can talk later," he promised.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSP N

Dean parked the Impala and helped Cass out of the car. The angel was still clutching his stomach but he was also alert.

"Where are we?" he asked, looking out at the road.

Sam grinned.

"Men of Letters bunker. We kinda inherited it."

Castiel blinked.

"Of course, the Men of Letters. The greatest collection of supernatural knowledge known to man."

"You knew about this place?" Dean asked.

"Of course not," Castiel replied. "Its location was lost decades ago."

He took a step forward and nearly fell onto the gravely road if had not been for the two pairs of hands holding him steady. Well, one pair. Sam seemed to be swaying as well, but he didn't remove his hands until Dean leveled him with a glare.

"Let's go inside," he said.

After entering the bunker, Dean set Cass down and leaned him into a sitting position against the wall.

"I'm going to help Sam down the stairs. I'll be back in a second," he said, tapping Cass's knee.

Cass nodded.

"Dean, I don't need an escort," Sam said stubbornly.

"Sure," Dean said. "Do me a favor: walk in a straight line, and then we'll talk about you taking the stairs by yourself."

Sam leveled him with a glare, but shrugged his shoulders in resignation, allowing his brother to walk next to him as he made his way to the lower level. To his credit, he did fine until the fourth stair from the bottom, which he probably would have missed completely if it hadn't been for Dean's hand on his shoulder.

As Dean helped Cass down the stairs, Sam went into the kitchen to get the First Aid kit. True, it would have probably ended up in the bathroom in a normal household, but is was too large and used too often to be stored in a medicine cabinet.

"Sammy, I think it would be a better idea to patch him up in his room. Grab a towel, would ya?"

"My room?" Castiel asked. His voice still came out raspy.

Dean shrugged.

"Well, I mean… we know you don't sleep or anything, but I kinda thought that, you know, if you ever came back and wanted a place to yourself…" he paused at the doorway.

"Look, I just didn't want you staring at me every time we called lights out, ok?"

Castiel nodded and surveyed the room as Dean guided him toward the perfectly-made bed. Sam had already laid a towel over the blanket.

"What is that?" he asked, glancing at the picture across from him. It was the only thing on the walls in the otherwise sparsely decorated room.

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Dean thought it was funny," he said, gesturing the _Angels and Demons _poster, which sported a rather grotesque-looking angel statue.

"What?" Dean snorted. "I thought it was a good likeness, you know if he had a trench coat." He pulled a chair away from the desk and sat in front of Cass, placing a hand on his arm.

"Cass, I need to take a look at that wound," he said gently.

"Dean, I'll heal it eventually," Castiel said grumpily. "I just need to rest."

Dean open the First Aid kit next to him and pulled out some bandages and hydrogen peroxide.

"Well, there's no reason why we can't help it a long a little, huh? Let me see."

Castiel didn't move.

"Cass, so help me God, if you don't remove your hand right now, I will put you in a ring of holy fire."

Castiel snorted and leveled him with another stare.

"Cass," Sam said gently. He was sitting in a chair by the wall. "We're just trying to help."

He paused.

"Plus, Dean will probably sit here all night if you don't and he gets really grumpy when he falls asleep in a chair."

Dean glared at his brother, but turned around when he heard Castiel remove his arm.

"Jesus," he whispered. He gingerly wiped his friend's stomach and winced at the hiss Cass made after he poured the hydrogen peroxide into the wound.

"Man, Cass, it looks like someone's been using you as a sock puppet," he said.

"Well," Castiel said. "Crowley reached in to retrieve the angel tablet, and of course, I had to get the bullet out, but I don't believe that has anything to do with controlling my movements."

He paused and looked at ground.

"Apparently you need to get into my head to do that."

There was a dead silence in the room. Dean slowly rapped the bandages around Castiel's abdomen and surveyed his friend slowly.

"Speaking of which," he said. "You need any ice for that face of yours? It looks pretty bad."

Castiel shook his head as he cleaned his face with a wet washcloth, wincing as it got too close to the cuts on his forehead.

"They'll heal on their own," he said, lying back on the bed and handing Dean the towel.

Dean nodded and stood up.

"Well, we'll let you get your rest."

He paused.

"You'll be here in the morning?" he asked pointedly.

Castiel made eye contact with his friend.

"Yes," he said.

Dean clapped his hands.

"Good. Come on Sammy, it's bed time."


End file.
